On Being Stranded Near the Harbour of Boulogne

Why cast ye back upon the Gallic shore,
Ye furious waves! a patriotic Son
Of England--who in hope her coast had won,
His project crowned, his pleasant travel o'er?
Well--let him pace this noted beach once more,
That gave the Roman his triumphal shells;
That saw the Corsican his cap and bells
Haughtily shake, a dreaming Conqueror!--
Enough: my Country's cliffs I can behold,
And proudly think, beside the chafing sea,
Of checked ambition, tyranny controlled,
And folly cursed with endless memory:
These local recollections ne'er can cloy;
Such ground I from my very heart enjoy!